


won’t you be my saving grace?

by wethethousands (atlantisairlock)



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Coffee, F/F, Fluff, Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 16:55:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2659457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlantisairlock/pseuds/wethethousands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A thousand miles from comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	won’t you be my saving grace?

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'intoxicated' by the cab.

Cressida's the one who introduces her to coffee. 

The first time she meets the director, she's unapologetically snarky. _Pass the morphling, Capitol bitch_ , and that's vicious _,_ but so was electrocution day in, day out. She still burns at night, the pain chafing raw at her flesh and eating her down to the bone, and it's all Johanna can see when she looks at her.

She doesn't even take offence, just smiles and passes her a steaming mug set on a saucer instead. "Try this instead. Be careful, it's hot."

Johanna's naturally suspicious; it's why she's alive today - but when the liquid slides past her chapped lips and down her throat, it's as if she's died and gone to heaven. She never tasted this, even on the train to the Capitol, back when she was first reaped. It reminds her of oak and beech, back home where she belongs; the satisfying thrill of the last swing of her axe into the trunk of a tree; warm and right, dusky on her tongue. She barely notices when Cressida gently takes the half-full mug from her hands and places in back on her lap. "It's good, isn't it?"

"Where'd you get that?" Her eyes are wide open, more alert than she's been since her rescue. "That's... not Thirteen-issue." 

"No, it's not." There's a hint of a smile ghosting Cressida's face. "Brought it from the Capitol when I ran. Effie's taken half my stash, but I thought you would like it." 

Johanna narrows her eyes in suspicion. " _Finnick_ thought I would like it, didn't he?"

Her laugh is as warm as the liquid settling in her stomach. "Yes. And you did, didn't you?"

"What is it?" She reaches for the cup again - the aftertaste is dying and she wants to evoke it again. Cressida hands it over, fingertips brushing against hers. "It's called coffee. They make it with coffee beans they used to grow in Eleven." 

"It's good," Johanna agrees, and the second sip is even better than the first.

 

 

After everything's finally settled down, after Paylor's taken Snow's seat, after they send out the hoverjet to survey the districts - they discover that even after half of Panem's been wrecked, some of the coffee plantations have survived. It almost warms Johanna's heart. 

She doesn't wake up screaming anymore, swearing that she's still there in the Capitol, volts of electricity shattering her. She wakes up to the scent of brewing java, permeating the house, the same as the day before, the same as it will be tomorrow. Her feet move to a pattern, a routine, the bathroom, the wardrobe, the kitchen.

 _I could get used to this,_ she remembers saying, the first time they opened the door to the house they'd call their home, and Cressida's smile.  _You will._

"Coffee?" Cressida raises the mug, grinning at her, and Johanna thinks that perhaps she has. 


End file.
